I'm Only Sleeping
by Crochet
Summary: Years in Privet Psychiatric Hospital have certainly taken a toll on Hermione. Up until she befriends Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, her life had been all but predictable. Between mischief and everything that comes with with great friendships, is the mental institution suddenly not as it seems?


Chapter 1- Routine

**A/N: Hello all. This is my first attempt at fanfiction and it's an idea that's been floating around my head for a little while. I figured now was as good a time as any to get started, so here it is. Before we start, you should know that I'm not an author, and I have a hard time committing to writing. That being said, any encouragement would be much appreciated. While the plot for the story is completely AU, I will do my best to keep the characters as true to themselves as possible, so please hold me to that! You might find that I am a bit vague on details as of now, but I promise I'll provide them in due time. Thank you so much for reading, do review so I know what you think! On that note, let's get to it!]**

* * *

_"Everybody seems to think I'm lazy__  
__I don't mind, I think they're crazy__  
__Please, don't spoil my day, I'm miles away__  
__And after all I'm only sleeping"_  
- The Beatles, _I'm Only Sleeping_

* * *

For Hermione, at least, life at Privet Hospital for Pyschiatric Specialist Care went something like this.

Waking up in the flat but somehow lumpy hospital bed, aching from the restless sleep, she realizes the sleep medicine has long since worn off, and that she has nothing left to do for the next hour or so but stare at the bland ceiling, the steel light fixtures, and the dusty air vents. There weren't any nightmares, or even hallucinations: at least not tonight; but she wasn't ignorant, for she knew they'd come back.

They always did.

At least it meant good news to pass on to her doctor. He would be positive and insightful about it all, though she knew mental illness was hardly something to cheer about.

The technician came when expected, while Hermione was lounging between the state of awake and asleep. She reluctantly drew herself out of bed, despite knowing the day's activities were to be as insipid as they had since her arrival at the hospital precisely three years, seven months, and eighteen days prior.

She made quick work of brushing her teeth, hair, and pulling on the overlarge hospital-issued cardigan; she knew patience shouldn't be tested today. Aware that another patient, Ernie, had an episode last night, which woke up nearly the entire third floor the night previous.

The food was bland; as if it was somehow trying to replicate the mood set by the building she had been kept. She had to eat, anyways. Not for the sake of putting on more weight, which might have been a normal concern for someone who was at 96 pounds at the age of seventeen. No, it was because of the rules. Always the rules.

After this, she was escorted by another nameless nurse to wash and freshen up before support group, which only occurred on a three-days-a-week basis. She wasn't sure if she dreaded or looked forward to support group. The amount of medications mixed with the never-ending misery the hospital provided proved distinguishing emotions next to impossible.

At least she had some sense of familiarity when it came to support group. She recognized quite a few faces and names. Hermione could even name what some of them were there for: a fact that sometimes comforted her to know.

* * *

Metal Chairs were arranged in a semi- large circle in the lounge, allowing the patients to do nothing but gaze at each other as the tech relayed her version of 'words of encouragement'. However, Hermione couldn't complain. She was grateful they weren't forced to speak about themselves individually. Public speaking was only another factor of the illness that had plagued her mind for so long.

To her immediate right was a boy named Seamus, whom she recognized as a boy diagnosed with pyromania no longer than a year ago. Though he was quite fidgety, he was often good for comic relief if necessary.

A few others she recognized consisted of Dean Thomas, Hannah Abbott, and Romilda Vane. And at the end of the room, a tall red-headed boy sat looking deeply uninterested, picking at the paper coffee cup without blinking.

Hermione had seen him perhaps once or twice without learning his name, as he rarely made noise or any sort of sign of his presence.

When the tech finished up, she advised the group to join her for social hour in the common room. This was typically the time Hermione allowed herself time to catch up on her reading and skim the pages quietly in the corner, but something prevented her this time. She briefly considered making small talk with the other patients, or perhaps taking a walk around the premises, but her contemplation was cut off by a voice.

"What've you got there?"

She brought her eyes up to meet blue ones that belonged to the red-headed boy she'd seen minutes previously. For some reason unbeknownst to her, she felt quite self-conscious and flustered. Attempting to cool herself, she answered, "Oh, erm, it's called 'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer', are you familiar?"

He smiled and shook his head.

"I mean, I've heard of it, but never actually read it. Is it good?"

"So far, yeah," she smiled.

Another awkward pause and then, "I'm Ron by the way."

"Hermione."

He extended his hand and she took it, shaking it once.


End file.
